turn the hourglass [chaos - day 1.5]

It's difficult to tell exactly what this sword is made of, but it looks as if it might be hewn from rose petals. The slightly feathered linework appears soft and at home in the light of the garden.

It's strange, Anise notes. But that much was obvious already, with a sword evaporating from lines of wax. The sword itself is almost hazy, lines not fully formed as petals wrap themselves into the blade. Beautiful, but practical is another question. She bends down to pick it up but before she can blink it's been nudged, then hooked by a foot. Gabby picks it up, examining the craftsmanship ("Every time I think things are weird enough...").

Anise's right index finger twitches ever so slightly, but her face stays as solid as stone. Eyes glance at her hands, watching for any sudden movement. Anise's brain runs through a thousand ways of self-defense as her father's speeches whisper in her ear. Versus a sword and a knife? No chance.

So she waits. An eternity passes.

But then, Gabby's hand shifts, handing the sword back. "You look like a girl who knows what she's doing, so I probably won't see it coming if you decide to run me through with this thing, but," she shrugs, a confident smirk. "I promise I'll put up a fight no matter who it is that tries to stick me."

Anise waits for a second before taking the blade back, curtly nodding. Her right hand curves around the hilt, as soft as silk but certainly dense enough. As Gabby turns around, walking back over to the topiary, Anise's eyes glance down, left hand feeling the smooth blade, a material unknown to her. Soft yet sharp. Gives slightly to pressure, but dense enough for injury. It's different, foreign. The edges blur into the garden around them, and she's lost in thought until a loud exclamation rings through her ears.

"My favourite colour!" Gabby holds a crayon in her hand as a parachute floats down between them, filled with a box of colors slightly less garish than the world around them. From the sword to the crayon, Gabby's iris moves to and fro before stopping on her skin. Anise's eyebrow rises.

It's soft, a faint wisp of a phrase. "Caref-"

"Since when am I careful?" The marks are rough and heavy, and Anise sees the crayon crumbling under the pressure until it begins to form around Gabby's hands, bubbling and frothing until a pair of gloves is adorn. Anise exhales slightly longer than usual.

"I don't trust this," she says, picking up the parcel regardless. But what else is there? The mansion is filled with who knows what, and from the sounds the two heard during their flight, battles are being waged, woven into each hallway and glistening off of every surface. And if this sword, if she can even call it that, fails, she needs a backup plan.

Her strokes are cleaner this time, more confident. Anise feels the wax receding into the walls as the lines become slightly curved, creating a knife that moves along with the arc of her hand. The grip is firm, the blade slightly jagged. And this time, she sees it bubble out of the wall and form. She picks the knife up, examining it before equipping it within the deep pockets of her trenchcoat. Then she looks up.

"We have to go in there," she states. There's no way out of this garden except through the mansion, and based on the clearing, they may not want to be here at night. "But straight through won't work." No, they need a better vantage point, one that allows them to get higher, instead of being dragged along the floor like ragdolls.

"If only we could fly," Anise says, dryly. But for a moment, her fingertips brush against a crayon before jerking back.

No, this is ridiculous.

[creates a knife out of Razzmatazz]
[anise receives 4 crayons: Blush, Goldenrod, Periwinkle, Wisteria]

She was kidding, she swears it now and she'll swear it to her grave. But there's noises coming from behind her, and Anise whips her head around to see Gabrielle Bellamonte stripping off her sweater, completely bare-chested (what) with an impish smile on her face. On instinct Anise averts her gaze, her face turn slightly right to keep the girl in her peripherals.

"Draw me some wings so we can get the fuck out of here. (wait what) Just don't make them a really stupid colour, I don't want to have something attached to me that's baby-puke green." (oh god she's serious)

It's possible that Gabby hasn't thought this through, and Anise is fully aware of this. But there's no guaranteeing that drawing wings will even work, and if they're just drawn on her back there could be serious consequences that they've been lucky enough to avoid. In an instant she's lived twenty outcomes, resulting in maiming, third-degree burns, or even death to the both of them. This is a terrible idea, Anise knows this for a fact. But-

She sighs. "Fuck it. Back against the wall. And I'm not drawing it on you."

Anise can promise that the wings won't be baby puke green, but she's not entirely sure Gabby will enjoy the color choice. However, if they're going to do this, they're doing this right. She starts on the wall, drawing two expansive wings from Gabby's shoulders that stretch to the heavens (or three times Gabby's wingspan, Anise loses count). they curve gently and gracefully, but there's not enough crayon for detail. "Step away," Anise says.

The empty space left between the two wings is filled in with a backpack of sorts that Anise hopes will be thorough enough in this whirlwind of a universe to work as maybe an engine, maybe just a slot for the wings to grow from. Straps are drawn that will conform to Gabby's shoulders, and a buckle connects the two together. Quickly, she makes sure that the measurements work and fit to Gabby's frame (at least the backpack will fit) before stepping back. On the wall rests their diagram, hopefully a functional one.

Now, all they can do is wait.



[draws WINGS FOR GABBY out of Shamrock]